Doctor Harold Shipman

With me, during my high-school-days, studied a little boy, His father was a doctor. This filled him with immense joy; At his constant demand, once to his dad's study I went, Seeing the skeleton, to my feelings, I gave vent; Inquired my friend; he said, oh, in syllables innocent, He is, (the entire city knows), my father's first patient...! Not less than ten you should kill to become a doctor half - This we say colloquially; But, what's a doctor-graph? How many servile souls should one kill to become full-fledged? Shouldn't be their operation-sword and shield double-edged? They might cut your internals to pieces; who could ask why? A good physician, all know, has ethics endlessly high...! My cousin is a renowned physician; we loved her much; Many babies and women, they said, had felt her soft touch; I do not know still, why she not treated my sister well, Her kidneys she did operate; why did things go to hell? She had no reason for us, when she clipped them together, One is dead-shrunk now; when will the time come for the other...? They operate eyes instead-of nose; hand instead-of legs; Visitor instead-of patient; just anesthetic-pegs; What if they dare to leave their operation-knife within? They have other knives; they'll operate; expose their win; Human body is not more than matters within a sack, Cut; stitch; if seen weak, dump like train-coaches gone out of track...! Doctor Harold Frederick's actions, hence, do not scare me, Psychopath might be! Lacking perhaps, some essential glee; Realization of sins? Feeling of shame? Gloom-future? His life seems to me just like his unconnected suture; In a world, where killing thousands, many blissfully thrive, (I am not justifying his acts) He could not survive...! 30 August 2022 Dr Harold shipman Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Joe Maverick